Good, pleasing and perfect

A new profile pops up on my FB feed with his picture and a new name. I’m a hopeless FB sleuth so I follow it and find things that make me wonder and ponder. Maybe it’s not wise but I’m a curious mind about many things and many people and it’s not unusual for me to try to figure out what makes a person tick even if it’s a stranger. 

He’s becoming a stranger. 

It bewilders and baffles me. But it no longer hurts me. I don’t take it personal. My life is now my own. 

I see the scales of his life before on one side and the life after this decision with all the new realities on the other. I see the weight of the internal battle before, that once removed, favors the side of the scale where the after and all the new challenges lie. 

It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. 

I want to do this whole thing well, but I’m saying this right here, admitting I’m not perfect. I will probably ask my therapist to yell at me for digging into a life that is no longer my responsibility, and I’ll fess up to obsessing for a bit. But that’s not until Wednesday so I text a friend or two or three so I can remember my boundaries and do my own work. That’s all there is left to do. I have no business in his work anymore. 

He’s moving on but I know I have much work to do before I’m ready for that. Maybe I’ll make a list of what I want and who I am to get started. 

My Divorce Care leader quoted Romans 12:2 last week and I saw it in a new light. I have always known God’s will is good, pleasing and perfect, but I had never thought to use that verse as a gauge to discern his will. I had put heavy emphasis on the first part of the verse about not conforming to the world and having a transformed mind, but glazed over that last bit. It was right there in the verse the whole time. 

That is what I want for my future, whenever it’s time to move on. 

I want good.

I want pleasing.

I want God's perfect will. 

I’m going to do the work so I’m ready for it. 

Smoke lingers

Driving through the country past fields and farms it was the kind of still and early fall night where the sun shines dim and weak and the smoke from so many fall cleanup fires hangs heavy near the ground and lingers in the woods.

The leaves have all fallen now, and I didn’t have to rake a one. I’m grateful to have a lawn service to do that for me, though it was always a chore I enjoyed. The crisp fall air invigorates and prepares my lungs for winter. The work outside provided the 

contrasting freezing hot when fingers freeze but the body sweats from labor. 

Life is full of contrasts. I’m grateful and grieving. This week was hard. Communication was down because of travel - Robb moved to Ohio. I have worked to actively let go, but this week proved I have a desire to be kept updated on at least big events in his life. To be honest I don’t know what is the appropriate boundary. I had expectations that weren’t met that felt punishing. I don’t know the right and wrong of it, I just know the hurt that the change brings. 

I busy myself with preparations and projects and the two of us at home work to create new routines and new traditions. We have fits and starts and it’s hard and good. Sometimes the tears come and my daughter reminds me of truths I already know because she learned well from me. 

Things are backwards and upside down and the smoke lingers. The sun shines dim but I busy myself preparing for winter. 

I take the seasons as they come, for what they are, thankful for the change and that no season lasts forever. 

Renovation

I sprawl on the sofa, now facing the TV and take in the new order of the room. It’s a visually satisfying arrangement, symmetrical and simplified. Matching chairs, throws and pillows on each side of the fireplace I stenciled the very weekend Robb decided he was done here. 

The order in front of me belies the piles I’ve stashed out of sight in the front room behind me. Piles to be sorted and things that now need new homes. 

Such is my life. It’s simpler to make decisions alone, the need to consult with a partner gone. I choose my own shows, make plans with friends and find freedom in my saving and spending and giving. 

Some of these things I like very much. I try to sit and savor these new feelings, but the cost remains: discarded hopes and dreams need emotional sorting and all the spackled nail holes need a new coat of paint. 

I’m in the messy stage of this life renovation, and though there are rooms that show potential, I’ve got a dumpster, a screwdriver and a paintbrush and a whole lot of work that needs to be done.

Still, some days, I just lie here and watch my choice of show. 

The Lamp

 Another storm is blowing in so I turn off all the lights in my bedroom and open the drapes. The fan hums on low, a sleep habit I learned from Robb, but I can still hear an occasional rumble. The sky is dimly lit behind the row of pine trees on the neighbor’s property line. Sky lightening flashes and I think of all the times we used to watch the storms roll in together. That’s one of the things I loved about this house when we bought it. It backs up to a park, so there’s enough open space toward the west we see a fare bit of sky. I mull over thoughts of the week in the flashing dark. 

I haven’t heard his voice in nine days. I didn’t even realize it’s been that long, I’ve been productive and busy and happy. Madison had friends over, we picked apples, made apple crisp. Megan came home for the weekend, the fall weather was beautiful and we did fun things. We wandered to local art studios, took in the beauty of the arboretum, played Dutch Blitz. 

I’m slowing becoming accustomed to being alone in decisions and duties and life and yet it seems strange that we haven’t spoken in over a week. It wasn’t on purpose and I don’t know what that means. 

I text him and we decide to catch up. We talk for an hour and a half. 

There’s no right or wrong in how we should or shouldn’t communicate, no guidebook for how this is done. 

I honor my pain but I don’t let it boss me. 

We walk an unknown path and peer into the dark. When the storm lights flash dimly, His Word, the Lamp, lights the way, steady and unfailing.

“Live in harmony...do not repay.”

“Bless and do not curse.”

“Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.”*

Step.

Step.

Step. 

*Romans 12. The whole dang chapter.❤️

Counting losses

Summer lingers on, an Indian summer they used to call it, with a hot and humid, sometimes stormy September. The sump pump still runs regularly and the backyard is squishy. But my two little backyard maples burn full orange and betray the season. A part of me wishes the weather told the truth and would bring our summer family back together. When there were five and not two.

I scroll Facebook and browse photos of fall vacations, and family events and happy families. I know it's just a highlight reel and I don't envy anyone else's hidden story.

I know everyone has a story.

But I make a list
and my feed reminds me photo after photo what I have lost.

Hot tub dates
Riding in the car instead of driving
Night walks
Looking forward to him coming home every night
Morning coffee together
Hosting together
Dinners out
Companionship and presence

My Divorce Care class was on anger this week. I don't tend to get angry. My experience with anger is that it is not profitable and often just a cover for pain we are afraid to feel. I'd rather just cry.

I read my list and let the tears come. I count and grieve my losses to heal. One cannot heal without naming each one.

The math says five minus three is two, but God has different rules and multiplies loaves and fish and families. I welcome others in who are counting losses and my family of friends multiplies. My home and heart are full. I make a list.

Wine and hot tub with my girlfriends
Apple picking with Madison and friends
Riding again, now with Madison driving
Basement workouts to Psych
Hosting teens
Planned healthy menus and dinners in
Friends and friendship


This first month seems to have gone neither fast nor slow, but a steady pace toward a new normal. We settle in to new routines as the weather cools, the sump pump stills and time meanders on toward healing.

Me not We

I wake up to thunder again, but the room is still and quiet. Empty. The other side of the bed remains made, pretty pillow shams still on, still arranged, same as I left them yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that. I don't sprawl in my sleep, even though I could.

It's an unexpected kind of peaceful. I'm surprisingly not anxious, and I do not awake wishing to go back to sleep and escape it all. Instead, I think of the next project I'd like to complete in my room. I have a dream and I am awake for it. 

I've never had a singular identity. I'm not really sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing, but it is a true thing. I moved from a bedroom I shared with my twin sister to a bed shared with my husband. I have never made an adult decision on my own, and I have always used the pronoun "we."

I remember discovering this truth when I was in Russia without my twin for three months in 1993. I found myself making new friends and when referring to life at home, I used the plural pronouns. I think someone actually asked me directly, "Who is 'we?' "

The first independent decision I made was to set up automatic giving to my church. I wanted to tangibly act in faith, believing God would fulfill his promise to provide for my needs now and in the future. The second was to begin redecorating my bedroom. A visible reminder every day I wake up to new life. A new beginning. 

A fresh start as me. 

Not we. 

Some changes are cliche, like the highlights I put in my hair, and the nose piercing I'm planning. Because why ever the heck not? 

But these changes are just external expressions of the emotional separation and healing that must take place. I think these changes often get mislabeled identity crises. Or maybe it's just my preconceived negative notion that an identity crisis is self-driven. I react to words like "reinventing" or "rediscovering." But this IS a crisis of identity. 

Even if I never lost myself. 

I gave of myself. Willingly. Biblically. Sacrificially sometimes. The two became one, and when they separate, it's not a clean break. It's a tearing and a ripping, and those jagged edges need binding up and tending. 

I tend to my bed, pull my side of the covers up, put my two pillows in their shams, and the bed is made. 

My life will not be so easy. But I will tend to my heart and my home and find what it means to be me. Not we. 

Yin and yang

It's a gloomy Monday that matches my mood. Fall colors are teasing on the treetops, but the drizzle camouflages the promise of their coming show. 

My heart is heavy as the rain soaked deck cushions.

I push through the household chores and planning and bill paying. I opened my own bank account on Saturday morning, but it doesn't show up on my mobile account yet. It annoys me. I don't need access for anything pressing, but I'm impatient.

In ran out of Synthroid while waiting for my new medical card to come. I took my last one this morning and called the clinic to set up lab-work. They don't schedule past 4:45pm even though the clinic is open until 5:30. I work until 5pm and have no backup to leave early. They accommodate me, but I feel embarrassed that I'm going to need to show up late.

I've always appreciated being a part of a marital team. We'd settled into a nice routine of give and take, yin and yang, over the course of twenty years and I'm grieving the loss of it. I know I'm capable of taking care of all the things, but I've always looked forward to the relief of my husband's return, when we settle back into our normal patterns and I can breathe easier knowing I'm not alone.

The tears fall realizing there will be no return. No expected relief. The thunder rolls unexpectedly giving voice to my internal protest. It's not fair.

The sun will come out, because it always does. The trees will fully display their fall glory and someday my life will feel right again.

But for now, I give my tears their moment, I savor the rain and the gloom.

A friend texts a song.

Another checks in to see how my weekend was.

Yet another brings me coffee.

And then there's the acquaintance inquiring on the divorce class I attended last week. She's in the same storm.

I am given both support and opportunity to support. I give even as I receive. A new yin and yang.

The promise of a beautiful show of color after the rain passes.

Child's Pose

Some days after finishing serving breakfast and wiping yogurt off chairs and faces and floor, I let the kids play, and I lay on the floor in shavasana and let the tension ease out of my back and shoulders even while the baby's socked feet kick my shins. A toddler bangs the upside down metal bin that toys have been dumped from and the normal morning clatter continues around me.

I let the tension and noise fall away.

The fog of this season was brief this go around and I've felt comparatively emotionally stable. The tears come, but they've not lasted all night or felt uncontrollable. It's a mercy. Still, our bodies carry stress no matter how well we handle our grief. There is no avoiding the physical effect of trauma. My shoulders carry the weight of the burden, even when my heart is at peace.

I attended my first Divorce Care class last night. It was good in the hard kind of way. I listened to others stories and was thankful for my own. There is grace written all over my story. Providential preparation, community building. I could not have known where I would land, and did everything in my power to keep from ending up here, but God knew. He knew all along.

I do not for a minute think he planned this ending or stamped his approval on this draft version of my life, but I do know he is present and he makes all things work together for good for those who love him and are called according to his purpose. I can confidently say I fit in that category!

I switch to child's pose, body folded over my split knees, arms stretched forward.  I position my heart and my body in surrender, secure in the knowledge that my Father is good and can be trusted even when my world is full of change.

Not Alone

Yesterday was my first official day alone as an adult. I mean Robb's been gone on trips and vacations and conferences, last year he was actually away for a total of 7 weeks, but of course this day felt different.

I woke up with a headache. Maybe it was the two glasses of wine with friends the night before or maybe the tension I've lived with for three months finally caught up to me. It had been a sleepless night. During this whole limbo season, I have actually slept fine, which was an amazing gift, but I suppose one should expect the first night after your husband leaves to be fitful at best.

I had considered taking the first day off when Robb decided this would be the day. But I've worked through many difficult emotional days over the last number of years, and I figured routine would be good for me.

I was right.

I did let Madison stay home from school. She deserved a day for self care if she thought that's what was needed.

It was just another normal day. Except it wasn't because everything had shifted. Between changing diapers and feeding many small mouths, and a visit to the park, I read and responded to messages. The words brought me so much life.

The doorknob broke during daycare pickup and one of the moms had to walk around to the front door. Seriously. On the first day, something had to break! lol Something always breaks when Robb is gone. His last trip, the car battery died. Except this isn't just a trip. Everything is on me now and I don't have backup.

But I'm not one who waits around for someone else to do something that I can figure out, so I went to the hardware and bought a $12 door knob. I did text my dad to see if he was available because it was pretty jammed, but quickly realized I'd probably have the thing unjammed and the new one installed quicker than he could drive the 1.3 miles to my house. Ha!

I did.

I took my ring to the jeweler today. I'm having the band separated from the engagement ring. I want to wear something, because I'm just not available. Wearing a sparkly band will be ambiguous, which is perfect for this healing season.

Sometimes I get a smidge of overwhelm at the thought of doing this life alone. Then I remind myself I'm a state licensed business owner (with all the paperwork that goes with it!) who takes care of 8 children under the age of 4 every single weekday. It takes a lot to overwhelm me!

And then my community shows up with flower and mocha deliveries and hugs and wine and chocolate. They sit with me and listen and cry. They remind me of who I am and who my God is and it is all so very good in the midst of the very hard. I feel so very loved.

I am not alone.

Our Story

I just logged in to my blog after a year and a half of silence. Once you quit for a while its difficult to sit back down and start writing lines. I always feel as though I need to fill all the blank screens I never filled for the time I missed. It paralyzes me in a way I suppose, but I'm pushing past that starting today. 

I re-read my last post. It's ironic really. Because here I sit, the first day of the rest of my life. Without Robb. 

Yesterday I posted this to Facebook:

Today Robb began his move to Arizona by himself. Our marriage is over. I know this news will shock many. I understand this doesn’t make sense at all unless I trust you with our story.

(Vulnerable post and trigger warning. I share this with permission from Robb and our kids. I have carefully considered what I have written below for three months, but if you tend to be offended by oversharing, consider scrolling past now.)

I married my gay best friend 21 years ago. We wouldn’t have said so back then, filled with the idealism and innocence of mutual virginity, but looking back, that is one way to say what happened. Gay is not a perfect label, with its cultural expectations and definitions, and sexuality is so much more nuanced than any textbook scale. We have wrestled with what it means and what it doesn’t and how it applies to our situation. It’s not a perfect descriptor, but at present it’s a label most easily understood. 

Our Biblical narrative influenced our perceptions and interpretations of the chemistry of our marriage. No marriage is perfect but we felt like we were doing a pretty dang good job at it. If you thought, like our own kids, that we were #relationshipgoals, that is not untrue. We ARE happy together. We have inside jokes, family traditions, shared beliefs, favorite recipes and 22 years of history and memories. 

Our story is just that. Our story. Highs and lows and kids and houses and jobs and faith and ministry. Best friends. Both twins. Probably codependent, but each happily so. Even amidst the challenges of life, our love grew deeper each year.

The first ten years we were too busy and distracted with businesses and children and church that we hardly noticed the hidden battle. The second ten began with infidelity and hiding. The last five have been an all out battle with sex addiction, sexual sobriety,  honesty about same sex attraction and seeking answers. With sobriety, forgiveness, healing and recovery came confidence that Robb could enter a graduate program, become a counselor and reach others with his new found freedom. But sexual addiction was just one piece of this recovery puzzle and graduate school was no joke. We are tired. We are tired of hiding. 

Even with this painful part of our history, this isn’t how I expected our story to continue. I believed God was going to do something different. But this is my reality and I have no reason to be ashamed of it, nor do I wish to hide it. 

The foundation of our relationship has been deep friendship, and though I am heartbroken to lose my life partner, our friendship remains. I desire to divorce well, to grieve well and to adjust to a new way of being a family. 

God has prepared and equipped me to provide for myself. I’m thankful to have wonderful support. There will be a season of grief and loneliness, but God is faithful and unchanging and will not abandon me. Even amidst many tears, I have great hope for the future.

Our family cherishes your prayers.

More to come.